#he really thinks he doomed himself forever

[miffy1111]

Fish in a Birdcage

cross posted onto Ao3 (Account is Miffy_1111)

Tw! -Gross wounds, bugs in said gross wounds, violence and death Also fun fact when I was writing this, I grinded a little too hard (on this as well as a million others fics) and got a weirdly painful ganglion cyst in my wrist and it is currently stuck in a wrist brace for the next week or so :p so the end of chapter 1, the editing process and all this stuff here has been typed one handed, so I apologise for any mistakes. This was really fun to write, and I'm excited to get the second chapter out! This chapter here is basically a look into the past and why he'll be silly next chapter, Also I haven't gotten to book 7 yet so I apologise if General Lilia is ooc! Please let me know in the comments what you think, Im pretty new to writing so I'm always happy to hear what you think!

(Word Count: 3847)

1/2 Chapters

i. Damnation: condemnation to eternal punishment in hell. To be doomed to suffer in hell forever.  - do this one for the last word thing lol

The sun felt warm. Its heat soaked into Lilias's armour, making it feel rather stuffy to stand in the forest clearing. He couldn't see any reflection of himself in the lake before him, however he knew his cheeks were flushed. As a nocturnal fae, he hadn’t spent much time outside during the day, either training indoors or sleeping. 

However, due to the diurnal nature of humans, he often found himself needing to be up when the sun was. 

He pulled up his hood to shield himself and wiped the sweat off his forehead. He looked down on the human soldier below him, the cheeks of their face- left unconcealed by their metallic helmet, were also a reddish colour under the unforgiving rays of the sun.

During a patrol in the forest that further deprived him of much-needed sleep, a familiar yet unfamiliar scent caught his attention. It was heavily metallic, with undertones of bitter red wine. He followed the scent towards the mossy shores of a lake, where he saw a figure lying, body half in the water.

 Crimson leached into the lake from beneath them, the source of which was a large rather gorey-looking cut in their side. They looked to be a human soldier, a low-ranking one at that. The only armour they wore was a spangenhelm and a chainmail shirt, their dark blue aketon covering the rest of their arms. A shield bearing King Henricks emblem was half-sunk in the shallows of the lake, Lilia taking it as a sign.

Looking at the human soldier, Lilia noticed magenta scorch marks on the edges of broken chainlinks, indicating that the weapon used was likely enchanted. He also estimated by the blowflies laying eggs and chewing through the wound, that the soldier would have been here for a few hours, at least 4. Lilia knew that blowfly eggs took anywhere between 8-20 hours to mature to maggots, which the wound was devoid of.

A series of wheezy coughs snapped Lilia back to reality, as the soldier attempted to lift themself with their elbow, hand just barely clutching a broken sword.

“Just kill me. To die by the likes of you… is a better fate than this,” Their voice was hoarse, and shortly after they spoke they broke into another coughing fit, more blood dribbled from their side from the movement.

Lilia looked at the soldier, eyes narrowing as he scowled, “Silence soldier! I will not have a human such as yourself command me,” 

Lifting his boot to their head, he swiftly kicked off the helmet that covered their face, not bothering to avoid their nose. The soldier groaned in pain, the arm that lifted them gave in to cradle their seemingly-broken nose, blood trickling down their pale olive-toned skin. 

Though Lilia hated humans, he truly hadn’t aimed to further injure the soldier- he just wanted to get a better look at their face, without the barrier of the helmet. His eyes raked over their newly revealed features. 

The human soldier's gender was indiscernible, and their face was wet and speckled with dirt, with dark curly hair just barely touching their shoulders. 

Despite their nose being rather crooked due to the far-too-much force of his kick, Lilia could see its aquiline shape, different from the typical straight-pointed ones common in their comrades. Their jaw was clenched hard and they looked at him, dark eyes squinted in pain, as shaky hands attempted to lift their sword at him. 

He grabbed the sword by the handle, taking it from their hands and throwing it into the lake. The human soldier was no danger to him, this was just an example he would make. Grabbing onto the wrist that once held the sword, he hoisted them over his shoulder- ignoring their groans of pain, and walked back into the woods to return to the camp. 

The position was awkward for the both of you, the soldier was completely limp, so the tips of their boots smacked against his calves with each step, and he had to focus on his steps so that the both of your legs wouldn’t tangle together.  

Despite Lilias' disgust at the thought of having to save a human (especially one from the blonde bastard's side), he needed information, and if they survived they could be useful.

After another series of painful-sounding coughs that left little specks of blood on Lilias's armour, the soldier spoke up with a strained voice, “Where are you taking me,”

“You’ll see, try anything and I’ll leave you back there to perish,” he grunted out, eyeing the tiny red speckles that trickled down his torso. 

They went quiet.

Premonitory: A warning about something unpleasant before it happens. 

When Lilia arrived at his quadrant's temporary base, he barged into the healer's tent, curtly described the soldier's condition and why they were to live, dumped them in front of the healer and left. 

As he walked over to his tent, he looked at where the soldier had coughed on him. The splotches of blood left on his armour turned a strange almost burgundy colour, and turning as far as he could to see his back, a large patch, more purple in tone, was left there from their side.

As he tried to wipe as much of it off as possible, a sense of foreboding washed over him. It was no doubt just by looking at the state of their armour that they fell victim to something enchanted, however, there was no telling what effect such a weapon would have on them, or if they would even survive.

—

Around 4 weeks later, Lilia was called to the hospital tent, a mere blink in time for the fae. While at times he was left morbidly curious about the soldier's fate, it wasn’t something he lost sleep on. 

As he arrived he scanned over the room, ruby-red eyes searched like an owl hunting a rabbit. Only to find that they weren’t there. He looked accusingly at the now-trembling healer. 

His scowl had done all the talking for him, as the healer finally began to stutter out an explanation

“Ah-h! General Vanrouge, the human soldier, she was sent off to the dungeon in Black Scale Castle as of yesterday. They asked me to tell you to go… there for questioning,” he grew meek as he continued, irritation evident on Lilias's face.

“I see…” Lilia said calmly, confusion washing over the healer, “And the thought hadn’t come across you to tell me this, several days ago?!” his calm disposition quickly disappeared as he raised his voice, the healer quickly muttering something about him not finding out till this morning. 

Lilia sighed and shook his head, his features softening as his anger fizzled out, “Nevermind that, how was their health?”

“Ah yes! I suspect th-that they were hit with a spell, maybe corrosion magic? B-but! It hadn’t gone so far into their system that I couldn’t somewhat heal them, they were rather difficult to deal with…” he spoke with both constant stuttering and muttering, things that Lilia found rather irritating back in his youth. 

“Oh! Also, t-the nature of their illness, i-its similar to… something like, say mould for example,” The healer's shy nature crumbled away as a grim expression washed over his freckled face, “Once it's there, its roots slowly spread throughout the host. Meaning that- though it is a trace amount- there are still roots of the magic inside them. I give them a few months at best,” 

Lilia nodded, all the more reason to get the interrogation done sooner rather than later, “I understand,”

___

It took him almost 2 days to get to Black Scale Castle, with the first day spent being pestered by the Senate to receive permission and the second spent travelling without rest. Upon arriving at the castle, he was immediately sent to the dungeons. 

Looking at the soldier through the bars of their current prison, they seemed ever so slightly better than when he had last seen them. A torso covered by layers of chainmail and aketon was replaced with a hemp-cloth shirt, as were their linen pants, both several sizes too large. He could spy bandages wrapped around their shoulder and left arm, as well as around their chest. The air smelt of wet stone and medicinal herbs.

The dungeon itself was poorly lit and dank, and each cell was only made accessible through a wooden door, with a slot for food trays to slide through on the bottom. The only light let into each cell was a small barred window at the top of the door, however after looking through, Lilia could spy a rectangular (also barred) window at the top right corner of the cell.

The dungeon was practically desolate, he almost felt a sliver of empathy for the human. Almost.

Holding a torch, Lilia opened the door to the human soldier's cell and prepared for what was to come.

iii. Ephemeral: Something that lasts a short duration of time, a fleeting moment, a brief period in time. 

His eyes pierced through them, attempting to either read them with a single glare or intimidate them into submission. It was always unnervingly quiet in the dungeon, all sound almost completely sucked up by the stone walls. It should have been considered a miracle that someone hadn’t gone insane in there. 

The soldier's face remained downcast, however, he could sense their vulnerable state. Dark circles were prominent underneath their eyes, however their skin was less sickly-pale than when he last saw them.

Lilia crouched down beside them on the stone floor and lifted their chin to meet their gaze

“You will call me General Vanrouge from this moment forth. You will answer my questions with nothing but the truth, fail to do so- and the punishment will be beyond any pain you’ve ever felt. Now state your name and rank, human,” he said, pointed teeth bared.

The way the soldier looked glaring upwards at him, jaw clenched and nose crinkled in disgust, such attitude flared the faes temper. 

“I am a low-ranking soldier, I was given the name Siro,” Despite the scowl on their face, the human spoke without malice in their voice. They made themself seem small against the cold stone, and even though their stare was poisonous, they almost wanted to look submissive. 

“And what were you doing in fae territory? I’m sure even the daftest of your kind would know that that forest is strictly overseen by fae,” he asked, no lack of his prior harshness

“I was given the wrong directions to camp, and I wound up by the lake you found me at. If you want to blame anyone- please, blame my commanding officer, Lucius,” they spoke with a flat voice, and even though Lilia wished he did, he couldn’t feel any indication of them lying.

“What a fool” He replied, “Now, tell me everything you know,” This was Lilias's favourite part of the interrogation. A human soldier's pride and ego often knew no bounds, so breaking them in was a lengthy process the Lilia thoroughly enjoyed. To wipe their dreadful smirks from their faces and tear that awful look of hope from their eyes. 

The soldier, Siro, looked up at him with an unreadable expression, opening and shutting their mouth as if continually deciding not to say something- like a fish gasping for air. 

Lilia moved his hand to his weapon, a threat to hurry things along.

“I-I! Uhm,” Siro quickly cleared their throat, “I don’t believe anything I know would be of use to you. I am of the lowest rank, so I am not trusted with important information,” They blurted out. 

Siro almost looked panicked. They clearly knew what became of hostages that weren’t of any use. Lilia once again almost felt bad for them. Even though Lilia revealed in their fear, it would be a pain to find yet another human soldier

“Well then, I want what little you do know, as well as how you came to be attacked. Surely you weren’t foolish enough to go alone into the forest?” 

“I was sent on my own. Before my unit made our way back to camp, my officer pulled me aside and asked me to stay and sharpen my sword on one of the rocks. It must have been a prank, as I only realised later well after everyone left that all the swords were sharpened only yesterday. He gave me a map as well, but it must have been the wrong one as I wound up at that lake,” Siro explained with a bitter edge to their voice and a glare in their eye. One that Lilia wanted to slap clean off.

Cruel pranks like those weren’t uncommon in human armies. Hazing, he believed it was called. Lilia could only imagine the officers all giggling together, telling each other ways to make fools of their subordinates. Lilia only wished he could see the look on the officer's face as the weeks rolled by and Siro was nowhere to be seen. Another one of their pathetic soldiers gone.

“Such pranks are common in human armies, I hear. Humans truly are foolish. You would have died out there,” He replied “Now, how did you come to be injured,”

“I don’t remember. I was by the lake looking around for anyone I may have known, then next thing I knew, I was in some healer's tent with a broken nose and a chunk out of my side,” they said.

“How strange…,” Lilia said, avoiding Siro’s eyes at the mention of their nose. 

An hour went by, and nothing more than basic questions and answers were shared. He hadn’t learned much, however they were far more cooperative than other humans he had interrogated.

As he prepared to leave the cell and return to his duties, Siro spoke up, “Was that enough for you? When will I be permitted to leave,” They asked him.

“I assume till either the war finishes or you do. Perhaps if you continue to behave I might be able to send you to a prison of… better quality,” He said, looking around the dank cell to further his point, “However it is out of my control,”

They looked at him, shoulders slumped as their standard glare was replaced with a melancholic gaze, “I understand”

iii. Wasting: Causing a person or a body part to become progressively weaker and more emaciated, typically by a wasting disease

As the months passed, Lilia (much to his dismay) often found himself returning to the dungeon. The first few times it was purely for information, however as time went on he slowly became more and more curious about them as a person. However, he wasn’t sure how long he could continue saying he was just curious.

Siro, the lowly soldier, no longer had any name of their own. Their birth name was Mariam, born a girl in a place they no longer remembered. The soldiers who raided their village assumed them to be a boy, only realising after a week their mistake. Their name had already been changed to Siro, and so they were brought up as a boy.

They would never be able to return to their family, all slaughtered in a land now foreign to them. Their sister, Arev, Siro assumed was still alive, as she too was taken. Siro had told Lilia with eyes as dead as a fish how it was obvious Arev was a girl, and a beautiful one at that. He knew to read between the lines and assume that she had been taken to be some soldier's wife; a war prize. Such was one of the many things about humans that disgusted Lilia.

After they had been taken, they were banned from their language. The commanding officer Lucius, the one who played that rather cruel prank on them, was the one who taught them how to speak the common language. Lucius never had a son, so he helped raise Siro, and despite his somewhat cruel tendencies, Siro never said much on their feelings about Lucius, and Lilia never asked.

Being born a girl and raised a boy, Siro never really saw themself as either. They weren’t ashamed of what they were born as, nor were they embarrassed about what they were raised as. They were simply just a person, they had told him once.

Lilia hated how he remembered everything they told him, how he soaked up their words and near reveled in the sound of their strained voice. 

Siro the human soldier. Truly an example of how cruel fate can be. Born in a place to a peoples that weren’t seen as human enough, forever fated to being a glorified slave. They were a slave to their own race, and they would be chained in this prison for the rest of their life. Chained to him. Despite the change in scenery, they would never be free, something they never truly accepted, even through their growing weakness.

The months went on, and both him and Siro slowly became consumed. The former, his mind- as it became overrun with the thoughts of Siro, and the latter, their body. As the months passed, deep purple veins became more and more prominent across their skin, which too grew to be a sickly pale. Their eyes looked glazed over and dark circles emerged underneath despite their frequent sleeping. Their body, though already thin when they were first found, grew even more so as their muscles fizzled away. They knew they were dying, and their appetite dwindled to the point Lilia had to come by every day to force food and water down their throat. He was never soft with them, and though he would say it was due to his hatred he knew deep down that he was in denial.

As the seasons changed and the weather grew colder, so did the cell. The cold had gotten to Siro, as their hands were even more clammy and their nose became stuffy and red.

When Lilia came to visit again, a spare blanket hidden behind his back, he found them shivering in the corner. The blanket draped over their shoulders was thin, a hole torn near the middle meant that it was doing little to provide warmth. 

Silently, Lilia draped the extra blanket over them, averting his gaze from the purple roots creeping across their face. The healer said himself, they would likely only live a few months, and it was a miracle they made it past 8. Siro wouldn’t live to see the end of the week.

​​As Lilia laid in bed that night, he regretted leaving that cell. Though Siro had an extra blanket, a twinge of guilt tugged at him. What if that was the last time he ever saw them? What if they were lying on that uncomfortable straw mattress, Lilias blanket wrapped around them as they breathed their la​​st breath? He tried to shake away those thoughts, they were nothing but a pathetic human!

He wasn’t sure what he would say, to his superiors, to himself, as he snuck into their cell. The opening and shutting of the heavy wooden door didn’t stir them from their sleep as it used to, and Lilia immediately went to check their breathing. 

He kneeled down and checked everything twice over; their soft pulse, the slow rise and fall of their chest, the laboured breaths that left their nose. He let out a sigh of relief, hand going to stroke their thinning- now wavy- hair. A strange feeling sat heavy in his chest. Why was he even doing this? He must look like a fool, he thought as he smiled at their sleeping face. 

Would they want to die here? He quickly shook the thought from his mind, he could only imagine the outrage from the senate if they found out he released an enemy soldier without written consent. Even if they were sick and dying, it wouldn’t be allowed.

Siro roused from their slumber with a painful sounding cough, more of that purple mucus splattering against their hand like phlegm. The roots had taken place in their lungs not long ago, shown by their recent difficulty in breathing. They looked up at him, tired and disoriented, “Lilia, is that truly you?” 

Lilia wasn’t sure what had got into him, his hand trailed down from their dark strands to gently hold the side of their face. He merely nodded then hushed them, a tenderness he had never felt before overwhelmed him, the feeling like a tide washing over him, blocking words from his mouth. They slowly pushed themself up till they sat up before them, opening their blanket so that Lilia could find warmth in there too. 

Intimacy, his first taste in a while. He cosied up next to them, allowing them to rest their head on his shoulder. Maybe Lilia was just tired, but he was finally able to ignore his internal feelings of disgust, of hatred towards Siro.

Suddenly his arms were wrapped around them, suddenly they were playing with his hair; suddenly their lips met and they both fell completely silent. An all-consuming warmth washed over him, silencing his doubts. They weren’t slowly dying before him, they weren’t a soldier from the enemy side, and they would be able to kiss like this again. The stoney walls of the dungeon disappeared around the two of them as his tongue slipped into their mouth. They ran their fingers down black and red strands of hair, then shakily caressed his cheek. 

It was unfortunate that all good things came to an end. Their body suddenly became too weak to hold itself up, and they crashed back into their bed, ending the kiss. They coughed again, it racked through their body as purple veins in their neck began to bulge slightly. They were in pain, it was only right.

With one last strained breath, they were gone. No final words were spoken, neither did Lilia say anything else. There was no point in shedding any tears or screaming out with regret, and even though his heart cried out, Lilia merely sat, still and silent as the stone walls around him.

He would have preserved them if he could, however, there was a war, and as the Silver Owls closed in, he had to have them cremated. Lilia had tried to find their sister, Arev, however he hadn’t the time or resources to do anything beyond scour through a few official records. He knew Siro would have wanted their ashes to be spread, Great Sevens, that was one of their dying wishes. Call him selfish, but something inside him couldn’t let go of them yet. They would have to wait a few more years, he would tell himself, to at least let his grief pass.

Siro, the human soldier, forever left longing for their freedom.

End of Part 1

I hope you enjoyed! Sorry if this was straight ass, this is only my second work in this fandom lol. The second chapter might not be released for a hot minute as I'm currently both flooded with school work and! stuck wearing a wrist brace for the next week or so. Stay well and stay hydrated!

#twisted wonderland #twst #lilia vanrouge #twst fanfic #lilia vanrouge x reader #Lilia Vanrouge x OC #yandere lilia vanrouge #second chapter will be more yandere #general lilia #hopefully not ooc

[cosmiccowboystuddies]

A Secret History, otherwise known as what the fuck Richard

(the last few bullet points will be talking about CSA so if that triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, don't read this)

Hi pookies, sorry for being awol, I've been prepping for finals, as well as annotating a secret history, and I had some thoughts I felt like sharing.

first of all fuck Henry

Bunny being the one to say " to live forever" is the definition of being doomed by the narritive

there is no version of the story where bunny lives, and by him being the one who says that, is in a way a challenge to Henrey

Richard opens the book by claiming to be a good liar, and in every situation where he lies he does it horribly is the funniest thing ever

Henry was a budding serial killer, and I think that by the simple fact of giving poor Charles those pills

I also don't think Bunny was as bad as the group made him out to be. Richard is obviously a self-admitted unreliable narrator, but I really don't think Bunny was as bad as they were making him out to be

sure he was probably really annoying, but the week before his death I don't think he was being purposely antagonistic but acting afraid

and in a sense when Richard found out about the murder, that was bunny signing his death certificate.

i think Henry was always going to kill Bunny, he was just waiting for a good enough excuse

when Jullian left Henry started decompensating like a serial killer, and that's why he lost control when talking to Charles

and while it is clearly the best choice to send Fransis to the police, Henry tells Charles to go because Charles is easy to manipulate

i think Fransis is obviously disalutioned by Henry from the beginning of the book, while Charles and Richard were still drinking the Kool-aid

Camilla is obviously romantisized by Richard, and I think that in all reality he probably viewed women in a simmular way Bunny did

in Camilla's descriptions she is often barefoot, and he makes note to mention that during the act of the murder she wasn't present

he also compares most women to Marion a person he thinks is too stupid and girly

people forget how physically imposing henry is, by Richard describing him it almost infantilizes him, in a way.

he is physically imposing which made him look odd, but he lifted camila with great ease, and lifts weight despite is limp

i think he hurt camilla by pulling out her hair, and hurting her wrist

i feel bad for bunny because while he was teetering over the edge he must have been so afraid

richard and henry could have been the same under slightly different circumsances

camilla is not as oblivious to things as people belive she is, obviously she is a victim, but the narrative implies that she is for lack of a better term, not completely innocent

she is a victim of her circumstances, but not completely innocent

richard clings to the group because they are every thing he wanted to

henry killed himself to achieve some fucked up version of godhood.

fransis is the most complex character because by the end of the book we feel bad for him despite taking advantage of 2 of the other characters in the book

he is also clearly in love with Charles but yk

CSA TW BELOW

okay so i think its pretty clear that Charles is a CSA victim

he very clearly has an eating disorder, and a alcohol problem which Fransis exacerbates by getting him drunk and hooking up with him frequently

not only that but he is really dependent on his friendships and is constantly paranoid that they are talking about him, but needs constant reassurance like a child

but also when bunny is making digs at the group, he starts talking about the preversions of the catholic church, i don't think that group cared, nor do i belive that any of them are particularly religious, but I do belive that Bunny was making a dig about Charles being molested by a preist

and if that's the case than his ultimate outcome makes the most sense,

that also makes sense why he would frequently sleep with camilla and fransis

feel free to message me so we can chat about it... this book has recently become my greatest obsession, or we can chat in the comments.

#a secret history #richard papen #donna tart #henry winter #omg #booktok #book review #books to read #bookblr #book blog #charles a secret history #dommed by the narritive

[kyofsonder]

Sometimes writing involves haggling with your own stories/poems/other creative works. Maybe it can't fit all 5 things you envisioned, but it can fit 1 of them and give you a bonus 2 you didn't think of in the planning stage for a discounted total of 3 and you'll just have to take that.

#writing #writing process #I've started doing nightly short stories #and while my issue of failing to finish stories remains #my nocturnal nature makes thes night writes very productive #tonight I had a bunch of very poetic ideas #and when I tried to turn them into prose #it felt a lot like how exchanging foreign currency is described #you put in one thing and get the same value back #but it feels like more or less and doesn't actually have the same buying power #so now you have to reevaluate how to use it entirely #also #this poor kid in this story #he really thinks he doomed himself forever #by messing up a single spell #a very important spell #but still #I'm projecting my own fears on him very hard #and I feel bad for him now #he did nothing wrong #just got a little off-track #and now he has to suffer for it #maybe I'll give him some ice cream at the end #oh wait #ice traumatized him #uh #hot cocoa maybe #or cookies #that should work

[hopeworth]

protective mishanks is ooc to me sorry guys. shanks loses an arm and mihawk is only angry that he can’t fight him at his best ever again. mihawk tells shanks zoro is going to kill him one day and shanks only toasts to the new era. neither of them are going out of their way to bail each other out of trouble not because they don’t care about each other but because they have so much faith in the other’s abilities as two of the most powerful people in the world.

#i adore mishanks but they ain’t like that 2 me nuh uh #well actually the ‘bailing each other out of trouble’ i can be flexible with but i just think they’re not that attached to each other #sorry this is my aromantic mishanks speaking. if they were REALLY in trouble they’d help each other out but anything other than utter doom #gets met with a ‘he can handle it himself’ #EDIT: HEADCANON. i just realised i worded it like it happened it didn’t lmao. headcanon. just to be safe. #mishanks #mihawk #shanks #one piece #op.txt #obligatory: you can do whatever you want forever btw. don’t listen to me if you want overprotective husbands mishanks or something.

[princesssarisa]

In the past I've shared other people's musings about the different interpretations of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. Namely, why Orpheus looks back at Eurydice, even though he knows it means he'll lose her forever. So many people seem to think they've found the one true explanation of the myth. But to me, the beauty of myths is that they have many possible meanings.

So I thought I would share a list of every interpretation I know, from every serious adaptation of the story and every analysis I've ever heard or read, of why Orpheus looks back.

One interpretation – advocated by Monteverdi's opera, for example – is that the backward glance represents excessive passion and a fatal lack of self-control. Orpheus loves Eurydice to such excess that he tries to defy the laws of nature by bringing her back from the dead, yet that very same passion dooms his quest fo fail, because he can't resist the temptation to look back at her.

He can also be seen as succumbing to that classic "tragic flaw" of hubris, excessive pride. Because his music and his love conquer the Underworld, it might be that he makes the mistake of thinking he's entirely above divine law, and fatally allows himself to break the one rule that Hades and Persephone set for him.

Then there are the versions where his flaw is his lack of faith, because he looks back out of doubt that Eurydice is really there. I think there are three possible interpretations of this scenario, which can each work alone or else co-exist with each other. From what I've read about Hadestown, it sounds as if it combines all three.

In one interpretation, he doubts Hades and Persephone's promise. Will they really give Eurydice back to him, or is it all a cruel trick? In this case, the message seems to be a warning to trust in the gods; if you doubt their blessings, you might lose them.

Another perspective is that he doubts Eurydice. Does she love him enough to follow him? In this case, the warning is that romantic love can't survive unless the lovers trust each other. I'm thinking of Moulin Rouge!, which is ostensibly based on the Orpheus myth, and which uses Christian's jealousy as its equivalent of Orpheus's fatal doubt and explicitly states "Where there is no trust, there is no love."

The third variation is that he doubts himself. Could his music really have the power to sway the Underworld? The message in this version would be that self-doubt can sabotage all our best efforts.

But all of the above interpretations revolve around the concept that Orpheus looks back because of a tragic flaw, which wasn't necessarily the view of Virgil, the earliest known recorder of the myth. Virgil wrote that Orpheus's backward glance was "A pardonable offense, if the spirits knew how to pardon."

In some versions, when the upper world comes into Orpheus's view, he thinks his journey is over. In this moment, he's so ecstatic and so eager to finally see Eurydice that he unthinkingly turns around an instant too soon, either just before he reaches the threshold or when he's already crossed it but Eurydice is still a few steps behind him. In this scenario, it isn't a personal flaw that makes him look back, but just a moment of passion-fueled carelessness, and the fact that it costs him Eurydice shows the pitilessness of the Underworld.

In other versions, concern for Eurydice makes him look back. Sometimes he looks back because the upward path is steep and rocky, and Eurydice is still limping from her snakebite, so he knows she must be struggling, in some versions he even hears her stumble, and he finally can't resist turning around to help her. Or more cruelly, in other versions – for example, in Gluck's opera – Eurydice doesn't know that Orpheus is forbidden to look back at her, and Orpheus is also forbidden to tell her. So she's distraught that her husband seems to be coldly ignoring her and begs him to look at her until he can't bear her anguish anymore.

These versions highlight the harshness of the Underworld's law, and Orpheus's failure to comply with it seems natural and even inevitable. The message here seems to be that death is pitiless and irreversible: a demigod hero might come close to conquering it, but through little or no fault of his own, he's bound to fail in the end.

Another interpretation I've read is that Orpheus's backward glance represents the nature of grief. We can't help but look back on our memories of our dead loved ones, even though it means feeling the pain of loss all over again.

Then there's the interpretation that Orpheus chooses his memory of Eurydice, represented by the backward glance, rather than a future with a living Eurydice. "The poet's choice," as Portrait of a Lady on Fire puts it. In this reading, Orpheus looks back because he realizes he would rather preserve his memory of their youthful, blissful love, just as it was when she died, than face a future of growing older, the difficulties of married life, and the possibility that their love will fade. That's the slightly more sympathetic version. In the version that makes Orpheus more egotistical, he prefers the idealized memory to the real woman because the memory is entirely his possession, in a way that a living wife with her own will could never be, and will never distract him from his music, but can only inspire it.

Then there are the modern feminist interpretations, also alluded to in Portrait of a Lady on Fire but seen in several female-authored adaptations of the myth too, where Eurydice provokes Orpheus into looking back because she wants to stay in the Underworld. The viewpoint kinder to Orpheus is that Eurydice also wants to preserve their love just as it was, youthful, passionate, and blissful, rather than subject it to the ravages of time and the hardships of life. The variation less sympathetic to Orpheus is that Euyridice was at peace in death, in some versions she drank from the river Lethe and doesn't even remember Orpheus, his attempt to take her back is selfish, and she prefers to be her own free woman than be bound to him forever and literally only live for his sake.

With that interpretation in mind, I'm surprised I've never read yet another variation. I can imagine a version where, as Orpheus walks up the path toward the living world, he realizes he's being selfish: Eurydice was happy and at peace in the Elysian Fields, she doesn't even remember him because she drank from Lethe, and she's only following him now because Hades and Persephone have forced her to do so. So he finally looks back out of selfless love, to let her go. Maybe I should write this retelling myself.

Are any of these interpretations – or any others – the "true" or "definitive" reason why Orpheus looks back? I don't think so at all. The fact that they all exist and can all ring true says something valuable about the nature of mythology.

#mythology #greek mythology #orpheus #eurydice #orpheus and eurydice #analysis #interpretations #adaptations #long

[crocsfroggo]

The way simon finally realized that betty sacrificed everything for him was...wonderful

I mean, Simon sacrificed himself for her too, but he never really realized what she left behind by staying with him. Even when Fiona asks, "So you got on the bus with her?" he responds, "what? why would I do that?"

And after spending time with Beth and reading Casper and Nova's book, Simon finally understands. He finally understands everything Betty sacrificed for him and his choices. He finally understands that everything could have been different if they had followed the path of Betty's choices.

And in the flashback scene, he tries to change that, he tries to go with Betty on the trip, but he knows that's not what happened. And he know that this cannot be changed.

And I think after all this time, he might finally let her go, when he stayed behind instead of going with her on the bus.

The metaphor of betty leaving on the bus and leaving simon behind was magnificent. But the metaphor of Simon being like Betty's dandelion was also extraordinary.

I mean, Betty blows him away like a dandelion, wishing he could finally live his life on his own, in peace, and the way he wants, in the happiest way possible, without having to worry to bring her back at all costs. Cuz everything that's done is done, and you can't go back.

And the way they looked each other in the eye and said how important they were, I guess this time, it was a goodbye. Not forever, but still a goodbye.

Like, they'll never stop caring about each other, and they'll always think about how each other is doing, but now they can finally live in peace. Knowing that despite the bad choices they made during their lives together, there is nothing to regret.

I saw this fan-comic other day that showed that Simon always picked up objects and pointed them at the sky, because he thought that Betty might be watching him from up there... and I like to think that's what's going to happen. They will live their lives, but they will still be looking out for each other.

After all, they are doomed yuri (hehe *crying*)

#btw sorry about the quality of the prints 😭 #excuse me now I'm going to cry for 5 hours straight #simon x betty #betty x simon #simon petrikov #golbetty #fionna and cake finale #fionna and cake #adventure time #petrigrof

[writing-for-life]

The Endless Are Not Their Opposite--They Only Define It

I read quite often, on here and elsewhere, that the Endless are also their opposite (@tickldpnk8 and I were just talking about an interesting thread on Reddit), so I just decided to speed-complete this one and get it out of my drafts before it dies in there (so not as much in-depth as originally planned, but sometimes, you just need to run with it 🤣).

The Endless are not their opposite. They define it. It’s a (in my mind, and I’d love to hear what you think) massive difference. And they define their opposite by their absence. If they truly were their opposite, it would give very different meaning to canon, and if we were to do so, a lot of it wouldn't make sense in my view.

Dream is not also reality. He defines it. He is, and forever will be, unreality. It is his absence that defines reality. A dream that becomes real isn't a dream anymore--it's real. That’s the main reason why pulling the ship into reality in Overture weakens him. If he were reality, he could have just snapped his fingers and make it happen. If he were reality, a lot of his problems wouldn't be... well, problems. The fact he is (a) D/dream is pretty much why all his relationships are doomed to fail. Dreams don't last. Dreams are forever strange and can't be truly known.

Delirium is not also sanity/clarity. She defines it through her absence. And when she pulls herself together like in Brief Lives, it hurts her "muchly". It is immeasurable pain for her because it is what she is not and cannot be for any extended period of time without hurting herself.

Despair is not also hope. She defines it via her absence. As long as you hope, you don’t despair. If Despair were also hope, we would not have 6 issues of Overture very clearly showing us who and what H/hope is. If Despair were also hope, we wouldn't need a little girl called Hope reach out her hand and touch Dream—he would have a sister who could do it. But the only time Despair shows up for him, so to speak, is after he killed Orpheus—make of that what you will.

Death is not also life. She defines it. The fact that she is there at your beginning does not mean she is the one who gives you life. She is there so you will remember her, always (and especially when she takes your hand), hence you will cherish life. She does not directly give life to immortals either--they are immortal because of her absence, because she withholds her gift, like she does with Orpheus and Hob (the Eblis-situation has nothing to do with anything in my mind and is linked to a funeral rite, and we are clearly told it is not something she usually does [“it’s been so long”], or is remotely comfortable doing. It is just that she is the Endless that is most life-adjacent and hence the one who will have to do it. Just like Dream is the most reality-adjacent and hence the one who has to pull the ship).

Destruction is not also creation. He defines it. He is what gives us the blank slate, he is what makes creation possible, he is what starts the cycle and ends it, but he is not creation himself. Keeping on destroying makes creation impossible. There needs to be a pause, a break for creation to come to fruition—the absence of destruction. If he were also creation, he wouldn't create so badly (to the extent that it is canonically turned into a running gag), and being around him and seeking him out wouldn't be an issue. But it is.

Desire is not also hatred (I’m still not sure if hatred is really the opposite of desire, but I’ll run with it because that’s what Gaiman chose). They define it via their absence. You know how Dream doesn’t want Desire in his life anymore after one major spat (whether he had reason to or overreacted isn’t really the issue). And what feelings are often left in the absence of Desire? And what does Desire feel and gets themselves tangled up in because they are pushed away and are basically not acknowledged/desired by their own sibling despite constantly trying to show him they are important (desire is not just a sexual thing, people, get your mind out of the gutter 🤣)? Yeah, about that one… There is definitely a different type of enmeshment here which sometimes seems a bit plot-hole-y to me, but I think that might be down to the fact that Desire is the chosen antagonist (and even that, only to a degree until they aren’t). Even so, it still makes sense.

Destiny is not also freedom. He is the absence of it. All paths lead to the same end. Or a decision you make was the decision you were going to make all along, and what looks like a different ending was the ending that would have happened anyway. And even if you choose, the book will start to make that choice destiny again. Only Delirium knows what’s not in his book, and in this universe, the only true freedom is not bound by any rules, logic or sanity…

#the sandman #sandman #dream of the endless #death of the endless #sandman meta #sandman bookclub #desire of the endless #delirium of the endless #despair of the endless #destruction of the endless #destiny of the endless #sandman spoilers #I’ve been Gaiman’d #queue crew

[catholic-character-tournament]

FINALS - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Wolfwood

I love him. Man who has no faith in himself or humanity or god with so much blood on his hands, fighting for something he knows he can never see come to fruition in person. He carries his own literal cross and grave marker on his back. Just… he’s so iconic to me.

I'm sure I'm not the first to submit him. But I did it anyway. I hope he wins and I'll do anything in my power to make sure he does

Dude is literally a priest who carries around a giant cross. Yes he uses the cross to murder people but that is besides the point. Also he has a mini church he carries around for on-the-go confession services.

hes literally a priest(hes not a priest in the reboot but he is in the original and thats what matters to Me). he carries around a cross that is actually secretly a gun with guns inside that gun. he runs a church/orphanage. he carries around a portable confession booth and charges people money for it because he is broke as fuck. he dies bleeding out over an alter begging to god for forgiveness he doesnt think he deserves. he is everything to me.

look at this man he's a priest with a cross shaped gun that (spoilers) dies against the side of a church while waxing poetic about life and redemption (/spoilers), this is the Catholic ever.

Wolfwood is liiiiiterally Judas coded in the text. AND his weapon is a massive cross that turns into a machine gun and a LASER. Not to mention his religious trauma. Oh baby. The religious trauma.

Homeboy literally walks around with a giantass 300lb machine gun shaped like a cross called the Punisher. Hes a priest/undertaker depending on what version of trigun you reference. Grew up in a church orphanage. Also literally walks around with a portable confessional box for people to pay to confess to him. Need i say more.

HE IS LITERALLY JUDAS. he is literally leading the jesus allegory to his doom. hes also in love with the jesus allegory (vash). he is also carrying arouns a giant cross rhat is also a gun. hes literally catholic and judas and his tits are perfect. in one piece of official art he's wearing a cross choker. also the catholicism on gunsmoke is about making vash submit. wolfwood looking at that pathetic wet mess of a man oh i can make him submit easily.

He literally carries around a giant cross and is referred to as a priest by multiple characters. also he offers people confessionals

He carries a huge machine gun that is in the shape of a cross that is really heavy (he is strong) and his boobs are huge. So you know hes serving cunt in a god honoring way. Also in trigun 1998 he brings around a small chapel that he uses as a portable confessional and in trigun stampede he holds funeral services as an undertaker which are way overly priced. Also he dies very gayly (basicly confessing his love to his best boy friend forever)

Nick's funny bc he's probably the least Christian acting guy but is literally a preacher. There's a running gag with Vash asking some variation of "what the hell kinda churchman are you?" His gun is a gigantic cross. He rides a shitty motorcycle in the middle of the desert.

ok so thematically the main conflict in trigun is about peace vs violence and its represented by the characters vash and knives respectively. the two aren't /technically/ angels but thematically and through imagery they are and are comparable to michael and lucifer specifically. ANYWAYS. vash and knives are the characters who are constantly pushing and pulling at wolfwood's morality, sort of like a "the devil and god are raging inside of me" kinda deal. his grappling with his morality and faith is a big factor in his character. also he has a giant fucking gun shaped like a cross. and he dies in a church while praying.

Bros an orphan who grew up at a Catholic orphanage and taken away to be trained and genetically changed into a supercharged assassin for interworldly beings that have lots of angel imagery attached. Guy thought he was just going to be taken to become a missonary...instead he got 6 years of religious trauma. He still wears a cross necklace and holds it often. His gun is a literal cross "full of mercy" (its a missile launcher). He never really believed fully in the faith or anything, but the way he interacts with it is FASCINATING. He's jaded by the planet he lives on and his upbringing, and makes him say his most iconic quote: "We're nothing like God. Not only do we have limited powers, but sometimes we're driven to become the devil himself." He prays to a God he doesn't know if he actually believes in, asking for another day— for hope for the human race. The organization hes part of (The Eye of Michael) works for an interdimensional otherworldly being that has an incredible amount of angelic metaphor and imagery attached who intends to purge the planet of humans... and ends up siding with that guy's twin brother who is so Jesus coded it's insane. They are best friends even as Wolfwood is acting under instructions to babysit and watch him for his twin brother. He dies after facing down against his old mentor (named Chapel) and his pseudo brother from the orphanage who was taken into the Eye as well and his Jesus bestie buries him and sticks his cross-gun in the ground after losing his shit crazy style and using his pseudo alien angel Jesus powers to lash out at his brother for being the cause of Wolfwood's death. Rest in peace king

64.media.tumblr.com

via @monvment

Sister Michael

She drives a DeLorean. She does judo on Fridays. She likes a good statue and despises the French. Her full nun name is Sister George Michael, after the guy from Wham!. She is the fiercest nun you’ll ever come across and, if you’re attending Lady Immaculate College, she’s the woman in charge. So whatever you do, if you’re feeling anxious or worried or just need a chat: don’t come crying to her.

joined the nunnery for the free accommodation?

she does love a good statue it has to be said

She is the headmistress of a catholic school <3

sister michael so reminds me of the nuns who taught me. they're tough and sometimes a little harsher than a woman who dedicated her life to god should be but they're also wonderful people. i had a nun teacher who was 60 years old and would do handstands. another nun (also in her 60s) told me god was nonbinary. another was really mean and made me cry. (so did the handstand nun.) while the catholic girls school is The Catholic Experience, the school wouldn't have been the same for me or the derry girls without at least one nun who seemed to have sprung up out of the ground fully formed, ageless.

#cct polls #tumblr tournament #tumblr bracket #tumblr polls #polls #r8 #the derry girls #derry girls #sister michael #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun #trigun maximum #wolfwood #trigun wolfwood

[astayinwonderland]

“So this makes us what?” | fwb lee minho

pairings: lee know x f.reader

genre: smut | fwb trope | +18 minors DNI

requested by @kyungpenguin33 ˜ sorry this took forever to write, darling. i hope you like it <3

summary: you and minho had been friends for a while, but it all changes one rainy afternoon. now someone is jealous and can't really stand just being friends with benefits (college!au)

word count: 1.7k

warnings: biting, marking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (big no-no), minho calls reader bunny, slight argument, jealousy... lmk if I forgot something

Enjoy (;

His number 2 pencil snapped in his hand. 

Not that anyone would notice, especially not you. Your attention was somewhere else, better said, on someone else. Minho’s chest feels heavy as he watches how your deskmate puts his arm around you. Does he have a death wish? Minho shakes his head trying to calm down his thoughts. Of course, your deskmate didn’t have a death wish. He, like everyone else, is aloof about what goes on behind closed doors between you and Minho. The way you moan under his touch, how impatient you become when he teases you, oh, and the look on your face when he eats you out. 

It’s celestial yet sinful. 

Minho scoffs. What is so great about that dude anyway? You are way too much for him, you are the sunshine itself. You bring life into every situation no matter how difficult it is. It is hard for Minho to shake off these feelings, especially when you two are supposed to be just friends who fuck. 

It all started one rainy afternoon. Water poured heavily as you tried to focus on the movie Minho insisted you watch. It was ‘the best thing ever’, but although you tried not to hate it, the movie was incredibly boring and you rather be napping. Your eyelids feel heavy, drowsiness overpowers your body, and the next thing you know your eyes open to a very sleepy Minho. He is an angel walking the Earth, tortured, joyful, and beautiful. His head rests on your shoulders, his purple hair slightly covering his eyes as the two of you now lay on the very soft and cozy couch. Little drops of rain hit the window and your index finger lands on his perfect nose, then his perfect lips which are slightly parted. 

“What are you doing, bunny?” he asks. His eyes were still closed. 

Your heart almost stops as your body jumps, scared. 

Minho chuckles and tries to resume his nap, his head now getting cozy on the crook of your neck. You swallow hard, his breath tickles that very sensitive spot on your neck. No. You can’t think of him in that way. This is your friend, your friend. But when Minho plants a little kiss on the soft skin between your shoulder and neck, you are doomed. 

A soft moan involuntarily escaped your lips. 

Minho smiles, the corners of his lips going up. So he plants another kiss and another and another. His tongue ever-so-slightly tasting your skin, creating in you a euphoric feeling you hope never ends. His eyes land on yours, a silent petition to kiss you. There is no need to verbally answer him, you nod and your lips are on his. His lips gracing yours, feel like cotton candy, soft and sweet. You bring your face down to his and the moment his tongue touches your bottom lip the dynamic changes. 

Minho’s hands are quick and skillful to reach your hips and pull you on top of him. You feel his erection pulsating through his sweatpants as you straddle him, still not breaking the kiss. It feels so easy to strip off your clothes in front of him. For Minho is the same, he loves the warmth of your skin and wants to worship every part of you, but your eagerness is palpable and to him, pleasing you is now a must. 

Never in his life, Minho would have thought he would be inside you. Did he imagine it? Well, in all honestly he tried to stop himself any time his mind would go there. But fuck, he couldn’t, his will wasn’t that strong. However, now it is a whole different deal, you are here, riding him like a fucking goddess. The way your ass keeps bouncing up and down, your hips rocking back and forth. You drive him into madness, his brain can’t process how all this is happening. If he gets to have you, then let him be damned. 

You, on the other hand, feel the heat radiating from Minho’s body, your sweat mixing with his as your tongue clashes with his fighting for dominance. It is not the first time you have had skin-to-skin contact with your friend. You’ve hugged and cuddled a little bit before. But the way his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, encouraging you to keep going makes your pussy wetter and your moans louder. 

Skin-slapping sounds in crescendo, Minho positions his feet flat on the couch, changing your angle as he starts to fuck you, faster than the pace you originally set. Your broken moans are getting him hornier and making him groan, whispering your name as it’s the only word in his vocabulary. 

“Minho… fuck– faster, please… harder…” you whisper. 

And he obeys as he continues fucking you until your vision blurs. Minho feels the exquisite clenching of your entrance and he wants you to milk him whole, but that is not something he’s been allowed to do. So he focuses as hard as he can to make you cum first. Your eyes closed, muscles tensing as your nails claw his chest. 

“Fuck yes– ah! “ you say as you reach your high, laughing at the blissful sensation. 

Minho lifts you and you want him to cum so immediately your hand wraps around his beautiful, perfect thick cock and after a few pumps, he’s cumming for you. 

No words. The only thing that can be heard is both of your heavy breathing trying to go back to normal. Minho smiles. 

“I didn’t know you were such a menace in bed, bunny…” 

That sentence opened the door for endless sessions of fucking and resuming your everyday activities. No questions asked. To be honest you were too scared to and Minho seemed not to care about talking about it. Minho didn’t want to lose you and would not take that risk by talking about the friends-with-benefits thing and ruining everything. 

That was of course until he saw you with him—your deskmate. 

The class was not over, but Minho was too upset to keep witnessing another man’s hands on you. So he storms out of the class, curious eyes all over him as he doesn’t bother to excuse himself. This behaviour is not completely uncommon from him, but you just knew something was off. 

—-----------------------------------------------------

Snow falls lightly as the day comes to an end. Minho walks determined straight to his car, heart beating so fast he almost didn’t hear your voice from afar. 

“Minho! Stop… shit! Minho!” you ran as fast as possible to catch up with him. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“What’s wrong Min?” you shiver at the cold wind hitting you. 

“Nothing… go back to the lecture. Go back to your friend,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Friend? Wh-what? Wait… do you mean–”

“Yes, him… whatever! Just go back in there, you’ll freeze your ass out here.” 

Minho takes out his car keys and opens his car door but you are set on not moving. Your eyes can’t believe the fact that Lee Minho is jealous of a classmate. You don’t even like him like that, you only like Minho but he doesn’t know that. 

Since you are not moving, Minho gets in his car and you do the same shortly after him. 

“Shit… just go to class!” 

“Are you seriously jealous of him? He is just a friend… I am not fucking him!” you try to look him in the eye but Minho just looks away. 

“Yeah, I’m your friend too and we fuck nearly every night. Does he fuck you better than I do?” 

Your heart sinks because his words are harsh and hurtful. You try to get out of his car but Minho pulls you back in. 

“I’m sorry,” and his face is so close to yours that you finally see the Minho you love. So you delicately brush your fingertips on his cheek. 

He doesn’t say a word. His eyes close and now his hand covers yours. 

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” he pauses, meditating on what to say next. “But… I don’t want you to sleep with that guy– or anyone else.” Minho now looks at you, eyes anxious awaiting your answer. 

“I don’t want to sleep with him or anyone else, Minho.” 

“You’re fucking mine,” he cups your face and kisses you passionately. 

Suddenly it all feels like that first time you two kissed. It was deep, lustful, yet loving. Your hands entangle in his now-fading purple hair as you savour every bit of that kiss. His tongue diving into your mouth, swallowing your moans, and his hands keeping you in place. 

Your body moves and before your brain can process it, Minho has you on his lap. Driver’s seat pushed to the back so you can sit, your back against his chest. It doesn’t take long for him to undo his and your jeans when he is already entering you with his middle fingers tapping on your clit. 

His lips on your shoulders and back, kissing and licking your skin making you throw your head back giving him access to your neck. He knows your sensitive spot. Minho’s mouth marks your neck so beautifully, licking, kissing, biting, sucking, as you slowly bounce up and down his cock. Every little touch drives you crazy. 

“Mine,” he whispers, as he bites down on your shoulder now and adds more pressure to your clit, drawing circles on it. 

“Mine, mine, you’re fucking mine. No one else's,” he speeds up, making you cry in response. 

“Yours,” you reply. “Fucking yours.” 

“I want you to fucking use me, cum for me, bunny. I’m no one else’s but yours.” 

His words alone make you clench around him. Quickening your pace you chase your release as Minho’s free hand helps you up and down. 

“Don’t fucking stop, bunny, just like th- that… ugh… you’re the fucking death of me.” 

You feel how your climax triggers his, spilling his seed inside you and you collapse, head on the steering wheel. Once again silence, your heartbeat so fast you hear it in your ears. Minho holds you tenderly and kisses you softly. He carefully helps you up and to the passenger’s seat. You are about to open the door, but he stops you. 

“So this makes us what?” he finally asks. 

“Get out of the car,” you reply. 

The snow had stopped now and you go around the car and hold Minho’s hand, interlocking your fingers with his. 

“This makes you mine and I am yours,” you smile.

“Let’s go back to class, I think I have a new deskmate.” 

“Hmmm, I want to meet him already…” Minho smirks, the tips of his ears getting red. 

-------------------------------------------

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨

I enjoyed so much writing this! This man be fucking with my brain BAD.

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated 💖

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #skz smut #astayinwonderland #stray kids smut #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #lee know imagines #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #stray kids reactions #stray kids imagine #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz lee know #skz drabbles #bang chan smut #changbin smut #hyunjin smut #han smut #felix smut #seungmin smut #jeongin smut

[dredgesnails]

i don’t think jimmy’s broken his canary curse. i think it’s just been evolving, slowly, and he’s figuring out how to work with it instead of trying to fight it. hear me out:

3rd life - flower husbands. jimmy dies first. scott is 10th out in the series, the only time he places outside of the top 5

last life - the southlanders. jimmy is first out. mumbo is out next in quick succession. impulse dies shortly after. the only southlanders to make it into the top 10 are grian, who killed jimmy and mumbo (and still only ranks 7) and martyn, who left the southlanders for the shadow alliance

double life - ranchers. jimmy dies first, and takes tango out with him. tango is the one responsible for their first death, though

limited life - bad boys. joel wants to sacrifice himself for jimmy, but jimmy dies first before he can. joel still dies shortly after, and grian becomes a nosy neighbour, surviving to 6th

secret life - big dogs. jimmy dies second, but lizzie might be falling forever in the end so maybe he does die first. martyn is the first to yellow and red, and he dies 11th. the worst he’s ever placed. (also, mumbo dies only moments after jimmy again*)

real life - (do they have a name??). jimmy and ren’s groups get into a fight in the mines. jimmy is the only one who makes it out without dying at all. his allies are out of the series.

the canary curse isn’t about jimmy dying first. or at least, it isn’t really anymore. at first he was used to signify it, the canary dying first to warn everyone of danger ahead. but the canary has learned how to escape the coalmine now, and his friends are still stuck inside. they might survive if they have friends on the surface or they’re willing to betray their allies, but if it’s just been them and their canary to warn them of danger? then they’ve doomed themselves.

*mumbo might also have his own unique “killed ten seconds after jimmy by the same person/thing” curse, which is different from the general jimmy “bad luck charm” solidarity curse

#we’ll just have to wait for the next series to see what happens #i wrote this all in a delirious state at 3am so if some of it makes no sense i apologise #traffic smp #trafficblr #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #mumbo jumbo #grian #impulsesv #inthelittlewood #tangotek #smallishbeans #rendog #ldshadowlady #3rd life #last life #limited life #secret life #double life #real life smp

[tonythr]

Quick Slash is even cooler from a narrative perspective, and why I think the Nailsmith's story parallels the Pale King's

Cold take: Quick Slash is the best charm in Hollow Knight.

Slightly Warmer take: Quick Slash is the only S-tier charm that is great from both gameplay and lore perspective (aside from maybe Spell Twister).

The reason for this is that its existence is actually a

metaphor

Here, look at this.

So, Quick Slash is something that was created from a relatively big number of objects that were discarded and deemed imperfect, and that possess a collective will of wanting to fulfill their purpose.

You know what that reminds me of?

A large amount of creations: check.

Discarded as imperfect: check.

Still possessing a will to find closure: check.

Being a part of a larger, more powerful thing: check.

Having a common creator who is responsible for their creation and rejection: check.

So yeah, I think that Quick Slash's lore (or at least its description) is meant to parallel that of the Vessels'.

But I wanna talk about that last point: the creator.

It is heavily implied that the person who created and then later discarded those nails was the Ancient Nailsmith we see in the room where we get Quick Slash.

(Oh by the way I just realized that this stone ring thing on the right of that room is actually the furnace, neat.)

Judging from their Dreamnail dialogue, this Ancient Nailsmith was trying to achieve the same goal as the other, more famous Nailsmith we all know and love: creating a Pure Nail.

And you know who else was trying to create a perfect, Pure thing while discarding many other similar things that later gained a collective will?

That's right - it's the guy who is also responsible for creating those other discarded things we discussed earlier!

Ok, but what I really wanted to talk about here is how all of what I just said ties back to that other, more famous guy - The Nailsmith.

We don't know for sure how the story of the Ancient Nailsmith ended, but it feels like it exists there mainly to put an emphasis on the City's Nailsmith's story; to convey that his struggle is an important theme in this narrative (because ancient means important, ok?) And, I mean, the City's Nailsmith's story also parallels that of the Pale King's in the same manner, right?

The thing is, we already know how PK's story ended.

In trying to achieve perfection, to create an eternal Kingdom by making a Pure Vessel devoid of mind, voice and will, the Pale King doomed himself to be taken over by his regrets, by the vast emptiness of the futility of his struggles. But was it because he failed, or because that was where his story was headed all along?

What if PK succeeded? What if the Radiance was sealed forever? What if his Kingdom actually stood eternal, never to change, never to end? What if he realized he achieved his only goal in life?

And that's the part where we get to a story the ending of which is up to the player's choice.

To quote White Lady, only two obvious outcomes there are from such a thing.

The first is an honorable death by the fruits of his labor.

If we choose to kill the Nailsmith with the Pure Nail, he dies happy, knowing that his life's goal is accomplished and having gained all the satisfaction he could from it.

The second I find preferable, a new passion.

If the Nailsmith doesn't feel the finishing blow of the Pure Nail, he is left unsatisfied. But, while trying to resolve that unsatisfaction, he eventually finds something (and someone) that gives him a new calling, a new thing to create, a new reason to live.

And, while those are both equally valuable, equally canonic outcomes, don't you think the second one is just... better? I mean, not only does it include the achievement of the Nailsmith's goal, but it lets him live AND gives two lonely souls a partner in life! I feel like that's the thing this narrative is trying to convey. What it's trying to say about the meaning of life, about our dreams.

Maybe that was the ultimate folly of the Pale King - the inability to change. His story would've ended in the same way, regardless of whether Hallownest lasted eternally or not. He would be dead, if not by the hands of the Void, but by his own - but ultimately, by the hands of that vast emptiness of realizing that you achieved your only goal and that now all there is for you is this eternal satisfaction that slowly fades away, leaving you with nothing.

TL;DR: Quick Slash is the best because it's a metaphor for discarded vessels; perfection is overrated, try to get laid instead.

#hollow knight #hollow knight lore #hollow knight theory #nailsmith #pale king #hollow knight charms #quick slash #hallownest #pure vessel #hk vessels #sheo

[amaranthineghost]

BUT I LOVE YOU SO (PLEASE LET ME GO) ( lando norris. )

he loved her, but knew he had to let her go even if it killed him inside. still he left a paper trail back to him.

warnings: heavy angst I suppose

authors note: wrote this with 2 am motivation. it was about time I finally gave you guys some writing after a couple of months of an absence (I sincerely apologize). I was thinking of making this one of the parts of the mini series because it sort of fits what I want to do with it, but i figured since i hadn't put anything out in a while, it'd be its own separate thing <3

part 2 found here

HE LOVED HER with every fiber of his being. every cell in his body lived for her, he told himself. the blood that ran through his veins underneath his tan skin, all the way to his heart that he had so carefully carved to be able to beat for her. she was the center of his life, he thought.

he really thought.

because now, as he sat and watched her through the fingers over his face to hide the incoming tears, he wished he knew what he should've done. because he only knew what to do.

to let her go.

surely, it wasn't easy, it was never going to be. but alas it was inevitable for the lovers to part though at the time, they wished for it to be only shortly.  but they were never coming back. they didn't want to believe, but their hearts knew.

it was a long time coming, but nothing could've prepared them for the heartbreak they forced upon themselves. it was like running blindly into the brick wall they had built together.

they didn't ever fight though. that was the one thing they took pride for their relationship, but now they realize it would've been better for petty arguments. because now, they realize they just don't work.

he was social, she was a homebody. he loved the night life, jumping between different clubs across cities he'd drag her to. of course, at the time she didn't mind being pulled into a club every so often, but it wasn't her scene. the media never was.

he knew that. she knew that it was his.

her hands shook with every folded article of clothing, occasionally wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she tried to avoid his figure altogether.

it wasn't like she didn't want him, in fact she needed him. but the relationship was doomed from the start, she knew yet she didn't care because at the time, everything was tunnel-visioned and he was the light at it's end. 

her best moments were the ones lived with him, yet also the worst ones too. but she didn't regret it, it shaped them for their future. one where they knew they couldn't be by each other's side.

they knew heartbreak was looming over them, though the possibility of severing their relationship at any given moment didn't dawn on them till blood was pouring out the wound and there was nothing they could do to stop the bleeding.

they wouldn't try to, they knew better than to patch a wound that would never heal. they let it bleed onto the cold floors of their apartment. the one she had to leave.

nothing had happened in the way they had wanted, but when would it ever if everything was always working against them? it was the world versus them and they lost.

they accepted that defeat.

she tried her best to keep her composure as she packed, for whatever thin thread they held onto would snap if she broke down. because they both knew he couldn't leave her if she did, wouldn't let her go.

because she knew he'd give up his career, his dream, in a heartbeat if it had meant he could still hold her at night. he said forever, and he would make it happen.

it sent her over the edge, reliving their relationship as her fingertips creased memories and packed them into a suitcase, each item of clothing holding significance from their relationship. all from the beginning, she'd kept everything, and that wouldn't change.

she broke. she recognized the textures beneath her fingertips before she could look, her favorite dress. her favorite dress that he bought for her for their anniversary. she knew it was over.

as soon as the choked sobs left her lips, the armchair he sat on creaked as he simply stood and walked to console her. his arms wrapped around her shoulders as the warmth of his chest spread across her back, which did nothing but break her heart more.

she pressed her lips against his skin, though not in an intimate manner, but to hide her struggled cries as the tears down her cheeks began to stain his skin with mascara. she gripped his forearm and bicep tightly, leaning her head further against him.

" 'm sorry," she mumbled against his skin, sniffling as she struggled to catch a breath between sobs. she clenched her eyes shut, seeing dizzying shapes underneath her eyelids. she hoped it would stop the tears.

"shh," he shushed as his lips kissed her hair, muffling his words, "i should be sorry."

still he spoke ever so softly to her as the day they'd met and she couldn't help but fold for his tone of voice every time. even when she knew she shouldn't.

" you have nothing to be sorry for, lan..." 

"i should've know the media would be too much for you, love." he mumbled against her hair, "i have everything to be sorry for."

"but i handled it." she peeled his arm from her skin, the streaks of black mascara almost making her lips twitch into a smile as it brought back memories. memories of crying-laughing and smearing mascara onto his arms. still, she held his wrist as she turned to face him, yet she didn't step back.

it'd be the last time they would be this close.

but part of him didn't want her to turn around. he loved when her makeup ran down her face as she cried tears of joy, with the bright sun shining down on her, acting as her personal spotlight, because she was the center of attention, with the wind blowing her hair.

he wished he could see her like that one more time before they left for good. because now he stood, resisting the urge to wipe the tears off her face. because now it wasn't happy, it was sullen. he wanted everything to be able to take care of her, to not let her leave. not yet.

he sighed, he had to give in. he always would, he couldn't help himself when he smudged the running mascara off her face, "fuck, that never works, does it?" he muttered in a soft panic as he realized he just made more of a mess.

she chuckled. she loved whenever he lightened the mood, intentionally or not, it was something she could always count on him to do, "every time, lando, every time." she replied through soft chuckles, sighing as she calmed.

he became serious once again as the smile slowly fell from his face and he wiped the black from his fingers, "but really, did you handle it?" he asked lowly, looking down at her with the same, soft look on his face she could always count on, "i know the media really affected you."

she sighed. there was no denying the exhaustion the media and paparazzi caused. they thought they were fine in the bubble of their apartment, but that bubble had long popped.

"you were born to shine, lando." she simply responded to not give him the truth he was expecting to hear, "that's just not me, we both know it."

"i know." he whispered, biting his lip and looking at her with a gloomy expression. he felt regret and guilt, " 'm sorry."

she shook her head, raising her hand to his jaw to trace the bone under his skin, “i know, but we're both at fault here. we should've known it wouldn't've worked out."

it hurt for them to hear, but it needed to be said, and he would've never said it. it was the truth.

she sniffled, backing away with the realization of how close they had become as she wiped away stray tears and turned back to the half-packed suitcase on the bed they once shared.

he watched her face as her eyes scanned the still heaps of clothing left for her to take, and boxes needing to be filled, "do you want some help?" he offered, his hand grabbing the back of her arm, caressing the skin as she jumped slightly at the contact.

she sighed and said through an awkward chuckle, "please," she reached again for clothes to resume her packing, " 'm afraid i'll change my mind if i stay too much longer."

her words hurt, like daggers slicing through his skin. another wound they couldn't heal.

"would it be that bad?"

his response hurt more. she hadn't meant it like that, but words were subjective. it was like he had taken the knife from beneath his flesh and twisted back into hers.

"no, lan, i didn't mean it like that-" she dropped the shirt she held to place a hand on his bicep, which he shrugged off.

" 'ts fine," he spoke without a tone in his voice, which was odd for him. His focus was on her clothes in his hands and somewhat neatly packed away into one of her many suitcases.

"but i just meant-"

"listen, 'ts fine, we aren't together anymore so we don't have to fix things, or try to."

she squirmed under the dagger as it twisted deeper into her flesh. the air was tense, too silent for her liking and his new attitude threw her off.

it made her realize that maybe there was something more to them that didn't work. because surely any two people who loved each other would make it work out.

it didn't make sense though. maybe it never would.

after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence between them where the only sound was folding of cloth and zipping up certain spots in her suitcase, he turned his back and left the room.

she watched him leave from the corner of her eye, but she didn't stop him. she wanted to though. she wanted so desperately to grab him by the arm and force him to talk to her, but she wouldn't. he was right. they weren't dating.

besides they couldn't even fix what they had before.

minutes later he reemerged with a hand stuffed in his hoodie pocket and another behind his back with something he hid from her. she couldn't get a peak before he slipped it into one of the boxes. she shrugged it off as something she had forgotten.

he returned to helping her fold, but this time with his back towards her. it pained her, she didn't want him to turn his back on her, yet in a couple of hours, she would walk through their apartment door, her back turned to him. it was unfair, she knew.

the tears this time were silent as they streamed down her face, but she didn't make a sound. she watched his actions for a solid five minutes, seeing his best attempts folding her clothes, for her. he was never the best at it, as she had poked fun at him for it in the past. it hurt to think she would never see the difference of neatness in her closet anymore.

her attention was piqued  when she saw his movement halt, quickly resuming with a messily put-together hoodie, one she didn't recognize to be hers.

she didn't get to look before he flipped back the top and zipped it up to go with the others.

she didn't have time to wipe the fresh tears from her face when he turned around after pulling the suitcase from the bed. he paused, dropping the handle.

in a swift motion, he pulled her into his chest. she couldn't stop herself from breaking down in his arms, his hand wrapped around her head, the other around her back. they stayed silent, apart from her sobs into his shirt. he didn't care if she ended up staining it.

they swayed for a while, longer than they should've, but at least now she had calmed down. though tears still streaming down her face and a headache forming in her head, they pulled apart slightly.

her hair was messy, her nose, cheeks, eyes and lips were red, her eyes were puffy and tears stained her face, but she was still prettier than ever.

he couldn't help but tuck the hair in front of her face behind her ear, his hand resting on her jaw.

for the last time, they kissed.

to him, it was like he was taking his last breath of air, or gulp of water for the rest of his life. he was taking what he could.

the taste of her salty tears, the wetness from her cheeks now on his, the hands in her messy hair pushing her desperately closer because he didn't want to let her go.

they sighed when they parted, his teeth grazing her bottom lip at a desperate attempt for more. more time.

they both stepped back, staying silent once again. they didn't have anything to say because their actions said it all. he stepped back to the suitcase he dropped and started moving them out to her car, which had considerably more trunk space than any of his.

it felt like when she was first moving out for college, with stacks of boxes and plenty of suitcases to make it seem like she was fleeing the country.

it all ended the second she walked out the door, but she didn't have to turn her back on him as he walked her to her car, opening the door.

one last hug between them. the last contact.

but they still followed each other's lives.

she would watch his races from the comfort of her new living room couch because she still worried about him the same amount from when they were dating. she noticed his suffering performance, though she sighed every time he crossed the finish line unscathed.

part of him knew she was watching for him.

he still followed her private accounts, liking the posts of the lifestyle that he could never live. it just wasn't his to experience, just like his was never hers to live either. most nights spent drunk in the dj booth, or out to dinner with other drivers, the social life had never been her scene.

he knew.

he knew all along that it was never going to end as they wished in the moment. they stared at their future without fully knowing what was waiting, yet they didn't step down.

months had passed. their lives were supposed to have gotten better, but they could both see they were both suffering.

boxes still unpacked from when she first left, she had never gotten around to fully moving in. still suitcases and cardboard boxes laid around the kitchen of her new apartment.

she felt like she should open them, like she needed to. if not now, would she ever?

boxes full of old memories from her childhood, or stuffed animals she had always convinced lando to buy for her. until there was one box left untouched. she hadn't remembered packing this one.

carefully, she sliced the tape and pulled back the cardboard. she was speechless.

his race helmet. his race helmet he dedicated to her.

dedicated for the anniversary of the day they met. for the race of the country where their eyes first found each other.

it had details about her. her favorite colors, places, things. it had her name, big enough to see from a while away.

he loved this helmet. and he gave it to her.

all she could do now was hug the last remainder of him and cry. she wasn't sure if letting him go was the right or wrong decision, but it felt wrong to question it now.

when she pulled away from the helmet and sniffling her nose, she noticed a piece of paper lodged into the visor. carefully, she pulled it out, unfolding it to see the familiar and horrible handwriting of lando norris.

she was lucky she learned to read it over the years or she would've been screwed.

blue suitcase. for when you're ready.

out of all of the suitcases she had taken, only one was blue. the one he had packed.

she hastily picked herself off the floor, carefully setting the helmet down on the kitchen counter before dropping back down on her knees and desperately unzipped it.

she tossed through every pocket and article of clothing packed into the suitcase, inspecting every single item. until she found it.

of course, he had given her one of his hoodies, but it was not just any of his hoodies. once again, a favorite of his he wore regularly. he gave it to her. it smelled like him still. curse him for spraying cologne on it.

she felt the fabric beneath her fingertips before slipping it on. a smile crept onto her lips as she went and sat back down on her couch, the TV had been playing FP3 in the background before quali in a couple hours time.

she pulled her blanket back over her, slipping her hands into the pockets. her brows furrowed when she felt yet another piece of paper, pulling it out to reveal even more horrendous handwriting from her beloved racer.

will let me know you're watching?

any day now love.

when the nights get lonely, i'll be waiting.

whenever you're ready.

i miss you, i'm sorry

ynusername

liked by landonorris and 4037 others

ynusername I don't know if i'm ready for this...

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-

proofread by @foreveralbon <333

#formula 1 #formula 1 drivers #formula one #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #lando #lando norris #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando norris imagine #lando norris angst #lando norris f1 #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader #f1 #formula 1 x reader #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren f1 #lando norris x y/n

[spacebarbarianweird]

Things We Deserve

Summary: Astarion re-lives one of the traumatic episodes of his life, and considers himself unworthy of love.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, established relationship, f!tav, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of past abuse

TW: a mild description of forced prostitution

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @satanicspinosaurus for your help! I live for your commentaries on ethical issues.

It is on the same corner of the street in the Lower City. Again.

A young elf is looking for a “client”. It's not difficult — he has soft white curls, a gentle smile, the body sculptured by some elven god. A glance, two, some nice words — and there is a night of passion ahead.

A half-orc, almost twice as big as the elf, grabs his chin and studies his face as if Astarion is an inanimate object. Then orders to lift up his shirt. The client looks at him with the same expression as if he were buying a horse. 

His hand gropes the elf’s crotch, causing him to moan. 

"Works for me", the half-orc grabs a handful of silver curls with his stiff fingers. "Never fucked an elf".

Astarion obeys. This is what he is. A mere street whore.

No, go away, you don't need to do that anymore. You are free, don't let him touch you!

Astarion knows what will come next. Two half-orcs, who despise and hate elves to their guts will really enjoy having one for themselves for the whole night. 

They’ll give him pain. Disgust. Burning touches. 

"Entertain us, elf", the half-orc groans pressing the Astarion’s face into the pillow. 

Here’s a joke: the elf wants to die. Sadly, he is already dead. And that's his life now. Forever. 

Beatings. Non-consensual sex. Or consensual? Is this what he wants? He never says “no”, after all.

I want you all to burn down, Astarion thinks spreading his legs. I want you to suffer as much as I do!

The half-orcs never give him a chance to drag them to the Cazador’s mansion. They won't die. They won't suffer. They use Astarion and then leave. A small sack of silver breaks when it is thrown on the floor.

And Astarion will have to deal with his sore body and numb mind. Forcing himself to get someone else inside the brothel, knowing too well that he is already doomed for torture because he hasn’t returned on time. Even if he delivers the most innocent and beautiful virgin to Cazador, he will be punished anyway.

Flayed with a razor. What? He is a vampire. He will regenerate. 

Astarion opens his eyes and finds himself on the floor. 

Where is he?

It's not a brothel. More like an Inn?

Reality slips back into his mind, replacing the awful visions of the past.

It wasn't real. Of course, it wasn't.

He doesn't have to sell his body anymore. He doesn’t have to sleep with people he doesn't like and want. He won't be beaten for saying “no”. He even has the luxury to say “no” to Tav, the only person whose body he enjoys. 

But two hundred years of memories are too vivid. Tortures. Humiliation. Misery. Forced prostitution. He had to do the most disgusting things on his master's whims, and Astarion is afraid nothing will ever wash it away. 

The flood of darkness flushes his brain again. Astarion rises up on his knees as if in a desperate prayer.

Why him?

Why did it happen to him?

His life was stolen. His personality, his future, his past. All was brutally taken away along with his beating heart.

Leaving only pain and disgust.

Tears burn his skin. The scars hurt as if they are still fresh and bleeding. 

He was stripped away of everything. Of freedom. Of dignity. Of his own self-respect.

The person he could have become. The future he could have embraced. 

Why?

Why?!

He digs his nail deep into his skin as if trying to peel it off. He is a vampire. It will regenerate.

Touches. The smell of unwashed bodies. Movements inside him. The fake pleasure. Pain. Always — pain. Either physical or mental, but often both. 

He clenches his fists and groans like a wounded animal.

"Astarion"

A gentle voice resonates with his broken thoughts. 

“Astarion, are you with me?”

He looks up and sees Tav. She sits in front of him. Concerned face. Worried eyes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t try to touch him. Like he's a person.

Like he's worth something.

Like he's broken and she needs to be careful.

"Oh, hello, darling", the mask is on again. "I am sorry. I've been carried away a bit. Tell me how was your day in the sunlight."

Tav sighs. “Astarion, I returned an hour ago. And you’ve been like that all this time.”

"Darling, you could just call me over”, Astarion smiles. 

"I have done it five times."

“Oh. Then … “

“Astarion, I know when your smile is sincere and when it’s not. Don’t force yourself.”

He stops and sits back.

“May I touch you?”, she asks.

He nods. The caress sends a shiver down his spine and Astarion flinches avoiding looking at Tav.

He remembers. Again, and again. Never-ending tortures disguised as pleasures. Things he would have never done voluntarily. The dirt on his skin. The poison on his tongue.

Astarion wants to hide. He wants to disappear. He wants to run away.

Tav crawls closer to him to hold him in her hands. 

He shivers.

“Hush, I am here. Tell me what is plaguing you.”

He almost orders himself to relax. Tav is here. Tav loves him. Tav doesn’t judge. Whatever he tells her, she won’t get angry. She won’t hurt him. She won’t punish him. Tav won’t use him for sex and pleasure. It will never happen no matter what he does. 

He can run away. He can say “no”. He can fight back.

"Just a memory of a certain night in the lower town. A night of... what I usually was supposed to do. I...” the words stuck in his throat. “I am tainting you, Tav. I am ruining you.”

"Stop", Tav puts her chin on his shoulder nuzzling his collarbone. 

"I am a terrible person, Tav. I truly am. It all happened to me and I sometimes think what a terrible person I used to be if I inflicted it all upon myself.”

Instead of answering, Tav holds him tighter as if not to not allow him to drown in dark waters. 

"Do you remember anything from your past life?"

"No"

"Then why do you think you were a bad person?”

“Because — … “

He doesn’t know the answer. A corrupt magistrate who would easily ruin people’s lives. An arrogant racist who hated everyone who didn’t belong to the pure fairy kin. 

But was it true?

“Listen, Astarion. I won’t pretend I know what you were like back then. I won’t lie by saying I know why it happened to you. But everything you “know” about your past life comes from Cazador. What if it was just another of his tortures? He wanted you to believe you were a bad person. He wanted you to think you were guilty. I know that type. It’s a special pleasure for them to torture good people. He — “

“Made me a street whore.”

He spits the last word. Yes, that is what he was all these years. He can mask it all with fancy words. Conquests, lovers, seduction. When it was just abuse.

Words spill out of him.

"Sometimes I wasn’t even supposed to drag anyone to the mansion. It was more like retrieving information by doing the only thing I knew how to do well. Sometimes it was an order to pleasure someone - as a reward for them. Sometimes it was just pointless. Just one more thing to break me even more.”

"You say like you did it of your own free will", she says.

"I-"

"You did it because you were like a puppet. Because it was impossible to say “no”. The moment you set yourself free, you stopped doing that."

"And the first thing I did was seduce you!”

She cups his face and kisses his forehead. It causes another flow of tears. 

“I have my own free will, too,” she says. “Do you think I would sleep with you if I didn’t want to? I am not the person who hooks up with men in brothels and I am not the person who would enjoy a sentient trophy to fuck. It’s not normal to find people on streets and treat them like objects.”

Tav cradles him in her arms. Astarion’s muscles are still tense. He can’t do anything about that. Maybe, if Tav leaves him for a moment, he will find a way to relax but the mere thought of staying alone scares him.

She kisses him. Saying all the sweet words she knows to soothe his worries.

"I have an idea," she finally says. “Could you lie on your stomach?"

“What for?”

Tav kisses his neck.

"Please?"

He is trying to lie on the floor but Tav stops him.

“On the bed.”

He hesitates but agrees. Astarion puts his hands under his cheek. His bare back is exposed and it causes him to clench his fists again.

“I will stop if you feel uncomfortable, love. Just tell me and I will stop”

He nods. Tav saddles him with her hips and presses hands on his ribs.

“Can I touch your scars?”

“Yes.”

Tav presses arms into his skin causing a pleasant pressure. The fingers massage his back but there is nothing sexual about it. It's not a premise, not a prelude. It will lead to nothing. He won’t have to pay back.

The hands massage his back, strongly and gently. 

"You have beautiful hands”, Tav murmurs. “They can do so many things —”

Yes, he thinks darkly, bringing pleasure mostly.

“They can sew, embroider. Pick up lockers. Steal pretty things. I like watching you doing tricks with coins. Can’t take my eyes off. Speaking of which… ”

Tav touches his curls.

“You have incredible eyes. Crimson red – “

The color of blood.

“The color of wine”, Tav proceeds. “You are always vigilant, like a cat on a hunt. You notice small details and see things I don’t.”

Tav moves a bit to be able to press a kiss on the crown of his head.

“You are so smart. You know so many things.” She gently touches his right ear. “I love your ears and how they peek out of your hair. They are so adorable especially when they twitch a bit, reacting to sounds or to your jaw movements.”

She keeps talking to him, massaging his back. The words of reassurance, of love, sound like a prayer. The touches and kisses cover his skin like a healing ointment.

Astarion feels protected. Loved. 

And then it’s just too much.

He bursts into tears. Desperate, painful. Tears rip his chest apart causing pain in the throat. 

Tav stops and gets off him allowing him to lay on his back.

“Astarion… Did I hurt you?”

He wants to say something but he can’t. He cries like a child abandoned in the streets. Cries like he did many years ago when the first tortures were inflicted upon him. When he realized no one would save him. That the Gods were silent and merciless. 

“Astarion…”

All the darkness he has in his heart is spilling through the tears. They wash away the pain and disgust like rain washes dirt in the Lower City. 

With effort he pulls Tav to him pressing her to his chest. She wraps her hands around him.

“Thank you”, he mutters through tears.

They sit like that for an eternity. Astarion listens to Tav’s heartbeat and breathing. He remembers her first reaction to his stories – anger. Pure, livid anger. Anger to people who did this to him. Not only Cazador but everyone who treated him like an object. And sorrow ��� she mourned his past along with him. 

She is his happiness. The happiness he has never considered worthy of. He has found it with her. And he will be forever grateful for her patience and care.

“Tav?”, he whispers but she doesn’t reply. He pulls away a bit and sees she is asleep.

Astarion chuckles and helps Tav to lie on the bed beside him. He tucks her into the blanket and makes sure she lies on the dry side of the pillow (not the section damp with his tears).

And then, he begins whispering words like a prayer.

Thank you. Thank you for existing.

--

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[emeraldspiral]

So another interesting thing about Jane Eyre is it's take on relationship inequality.

Like, Jane is 18 at the beginning of the story and Rochester is said to be something like 35-38. And it's not casually brushed aside like that was normal back in the day. It wasn't. Concerns about the age gap are raised within the text. But the story emphasizes that Jane feels comfortable accepting Rochester's proposal, despite the age difference, the class difference, and him being her boss, because Jane feels that Rochester regards her as an equal. When they converse, Jane doesn't feel any tension, like she has to impress him or try to read his mind and say whatever he wants to hear. She feels that he respects her and values her thoughts and isn't compelled to use his power against her if she says something to displease him. Around the midpoint of the story, Jane believes that Rochester is going to marry another woman, and resolves to leave because she's heartbroken, believing that because she is poor and plain Rochester can't possibly be as hurt by their parting as she is, and he'll forget her and move on long before she does. But it turns out to be the opposite. After finding out about Bertha, Rochester begs Jane to stay and insists he'll be miserable forever without her, while Jane, still thinking she's too poor and plain to ever attract someone like him again, resists all temptation and leaves him. And she does this specifically because she feels that if she were to compromise her morals and self-respect to be Mr. Rochester's mistress, then he would lose respect for her and the relationship would fall apart. It was only by maintaining her integrity that the relationship could stay in-tact when the reconciled at the end.

St. John Rivers on the other hand, I don't think is given a definite age, but I think he's intended to be a much younger man, probably in his early 20s. He is poor and without relations aside from his sisters or any other connections, just as Jane. Jane finds out they're actually cousins at the same time she learns she's come into a vast fortune that was willed to her rather than the Rivers, but decides to share her fortune equally with them. So she arguably had more social capital, even though she made an effort to put St. John on equal footing with her, because the money was hers by right and she could've presumably cut him off at any time, just as easily as Rochester could've terminated Jane from her job.

And yet, Jane's relationship with St. John is vastly more unequal than her relationship with Rochester. Even though Jane practically worshiped Rochester but only cares for St. John as a brother and is acutely aware of his faults, she still finds herself desperately craving his approval in a way she never did with Rochester. And St. John is willing to exploit that intentionally. He asks her to do things she doesn't want to and make sacrifices for him just because he knows she'll do anything to please him, and that's why he thinks she's the perfect wife for him. Where Rochester tries to explain himself and persuade Jane not to leave him by addressing her concerns, St. John basically tries to command Jane to marry him and refuses to accept her "no" as final. He withholds affection from Jane as a tactic to get her to compromise in order to reconcile with him when he's the one who should be apologizing to her and considering her needs and not just his own. Jane knows that she can't ever be happy with him because he doesn't respect her and his lack of respect only makes her want to seek his approval, which he is all too happy to exploit for his own benefit.

But Jane ultimately stays firm and rejects St. John's proposal of a loveless marriage, just as she rejected Rochester's proposal of an unlawful marriage, because both situations were doomed to fail if she didn't put her own self-respect first.

So this novel from 1847 was really saying that power dynamics aren't pure black and white. Age and class and wealth and status can be a factor in making a relationship unequal, but you can also be equal on pretty much all social axis and still have inequality in a relationship. What's really important is that there's mutual respect.

#jane eyre

[superfallingstars]

snape is such a fun character to make headcanons for because i feel like there’s so many ways you can go with it. like, i’ve seen a lot of people say that snape doesn’t take care of himself, like not eating well or washing his hair (lol), and i think that definitely makes sense considering his martyrdom/guilt complex and being raised in poverty. but i’ve also seen people imagining that snape is like really good at cooking and baking, which makes sense with him being a potions master but also kind of conflicts with the other point of view. i think the happy medium is that snape knows how to cook and bake but wouldn’t take the time to do them for himself, only for other people. however there’s a secret fourth option that i want to know people’s opinions on

i like the idea that snape actually does take care of himself, but he’s just kind of bad at it. like i think he tries to make his hair look decent, but it just gets greasy really fast and he tends not to notice until it’s already in pretty bad shape. and i also kind of like the idea of snape not only cooking and baking for others, but also for himself – not out of any real love or care for himself, but as a way of chasing success and distancing himself from his childhood and from poverty. like i can just picture him at the malfoys trying some fancy hors d’oeuvres and being like, oh, so this is how the other half lives. i want to get good at this. and there’s something wonderfully ironic (and let’s be real, kind of pathetic) about the idea of snape carefully preparing a charcuterie board of expensive delicacies to eat by himself in the dungeons or the drafty old sitting room in spinner’s end.

in this case, his hair and his eating habits are really symptoms of the same problem – he’s trying to run away from his past, but he just keeps failing. he tries to fit in with the upper class and the purebloods, to the point he acts like them even when he’s alone, but there’s always something that betrays him as an outsider, whether it’s his body, his loneliness, or the fact that he still lives in his childhood home. no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries to escape himself and his memories, he just can’t succeed.

…almost like how even when he’s trying to be a good person, he still has to kill someone he cares about to be one. he’ll never be free of his past, he’ll never be firmly on one side or the other. he’s just kind of doomed.

basically the takeaway here is that any headcanon can be true if you frame it the right way. also we should read way too much into everything forever. ok byeee

#lol this is the draft i was talking about. it’s mildly insane but. whatever #hp #severus snape #snape #hp meta #snape meta #pro snape #professor snape #snape fandom #pro severus snape #snapedom #harry potter meta #harry potter #hp fandom #my posts

[dilatorywriting]

Hi hi! So this is a request for the 4k followers thing and if it sounds like word vomit I apologize cuz I have no idea how to word this. Could I ask for prompt 10 ("I think we should go to dinner first.") with mc x azul? The scenario here is like that one twitter post that was going around awhile ago about how a falls first but b falls harder, with a being azul and how once he realizes his feelings he resigns himself to forever pining from afar bc he's convinced himself that any relationship between them would be doomed to failure since mc is from another world and would have to go home someday. But while mc is a bit dense when it comes to their own romantic feelings they've always been an upfront person and as soon as they realize they like him they kinda just,,,, barge into his office and say so, and I feel like the sentence prompt would be said by azul after a pretty intense make out session (maybe nothing spicy spicy but yeah) where at the end oh yeah he remembers he's a gentleman

Also after a bit of searching I found the twitter post I was talking about

Gender Neutral Reader x Azul Ashengrotto Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt 10: "I-I think we should go for dinner first."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

Azul had been avoiding you.

Which was so strange and wholly out of character that the first few days of it went by in a weird sort of fugue. You hadn’t even noticed an entire week had passed in blissful, mafioso-free silence until you were heading to your Friday night shift at the Lounge and realized you hadn’t seen your favorite octopus even once. Normally the House Warden was fluttering around you like a scam artist to an old folks’ home. Poking, and prodding, and ‘ah, Prefect, I know you weren’t a fan of the last contract, but perhaps this one would suffice, hmm?’

And when you arrived in the little, employee-only locker room—still fully unbothered and not offered even a single opportunity to sell your soul—you wondered if maybe he’d gotten sick.

You were in the middle of taking some Savanaclaw student’s order when you finally saw him at all. Just a quick glance out of the corner of your eye to catch his shining, silver head of hair popping into his office. You smiled brightly and offered a wave. But Azul only went stiff and closed the door with a bang.

Which was…

Huh.

“Is Azul feeling okay?” you asked Jade between running an armload of drinks to a table of Pomefiore students.

The eel hummed and gave you one of those smiles that never really looked like it was meant to be a smile. “Our fearless leader is clinically sound.”

You frowned. Because that felt like one of the Vice Warden’s non-answers that he’d throw your way sometimes like a taller, meaner older sibling holding your favorite toy just out of reach.

“So he’s alright?” you pressed, hesitant.

“Oh, I never said that,” he chirped pleasantly, before ducking off to go catch the stack of plates that Floyd was in the process of juggling through the kitchen.

The bubbling panic popping in your gut was the worst sort of tummy ache. The kind that spread its miserable pain until it’d left your chest hurting, and head spinning, and something deeply wrong throbbing at the heart of you. Because Azul, despite his inherent tendencies to treat you like a particularly stupid pack mule, was still your best friend. The person you cared about most in all the world! Sure, he enjoyed bamboozling you and your fellow students, but, like he hadn’t done anything genuinely malicious in ages now! Like a paid hitman retiring into selling seedy vacation timeshares.

The idea of him just—just not wanting you anymore struck something horrible in you. Of finally realizing that the silly little human from worlds unknown wasn’t worth the wobbly pair of legs you were standing on. And it left you feeling small, and afraid, and—and—

“Oh? Are you feeling unwell, Prefect?” Jade called from somewhere behind you.

“Does Azul hate me?” you blurted out before you could help yourself.

The eel blinked his bi-colored eyes at you—slow and unbothered. Perhaps a bit surprised, if you had to put a name to the expression. Jade’s face was like that sometimes. An enigma. Like someone had wired him up just slightly wrong when putting it all together. On any other living creature, that sap-slow nonchalance would have certainly bordered on outright boredom, but you knew him well enough to know there was at least something else going on there.

“Why would he hate you?” he asked, equally dripping and slug slow.

“Because—!” you squawked, and waved your hands around your head. “Because!”

“I see,” he nodded. And then latched a gloved hand onto your shoulder and steered you back towards his boss’s office. He didn’t even bother to knock before wrenching the door open and shoving you inside.

Azul looked up with a start, eyes gone wide behind his glasses and jaw slack.

“What’s going—”

“The Prefect is on the verge of psychotic break,” Jade chirped helpfully, with a closed-eyed smile. “Please be delicate with them, hmm?”

And then slammed the door shut all over again. Leaving you alone with the guy who might have only very recently started to hate your guts. Or—or maybe he always had! And maybe you’d just been really, really dumb about picking it up! You wanted to scream. Or hide away forever. Azul looked like the latter was an exceptionally tempting idea, and you could see his blue eyes flicker around the room like he was looking for an escape route.

But the idea of him running away from you, that you’d never see him again—that he didn’t want to ever see you again—had something horribly enlightening clicking into place in your brain.

“Are you okay!” you asked, so loud it nearly rattled the furniture. And Azul flinched in surprise. “Did I do something wrong!”

“What?” he blinked, startled. “Of… Of course not.” He cleared his throat and stood carefully, making his way towards you in the manner one may approach a rabid racoon hiding under their porch. “Perhaps you should take a seat—”

“I can’t!” you cried, frantic. “Not if you’re upset!”

Another of those owlish, outright consternated bouts of blinking. “You can’t sit?”

“No!” you wailed. That prickling, hot, tight feeling nearly overflowing out of you. “Not if it’s my fault!”

His expression twisted up into something mulish and embarrassed, and he reached up to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a soft huff.

“…it’s hardly your fault,” he said, sounding so stupidly sad that you just wanted to—to—

“How can I fix it?” you tried, panicked. Because he didn’t want to be around you anymore, and you couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t!

Azul sighed, gaze shifting away yet again. He offered you a tight, little smile that felt like all sorts of lies. “It’s alright, Prefect. Truly. It’s just something…” he trailed off, that forced smirk twitching off his lips like he couldn’t help it. “Something I’m learning to live with, hmm? Nothing terrible, I promise.”

“You shouldn’t have to live with something that’s bothering you,” you argued, firm. “You’re the king of fixing other people’s problems. You’re more than allowed to use all those connections and stuff to fix your own!”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t really work like that,” he tried, awkward, and you steamrolled on.

“Why not?! You’re amazing! And fantastic! And I love you so much, and you should never have to be upset about anything. And if you’re not in my life for the rest of my life, I’d rather die!” you wailed, and gasped—clapping your hands together like the idea that had just blossomed in your skull was just beyond brilliant. “We should get married!” And then, to sweeten the deal, “Think of the tax benefits!”

“I—” Azul choked, going as red as a tomato. “Y-You—”

“—love you very much!” you finished helpfully.

He ducked his face into his hands, like he could scrub the blush right off his cheeks if he tried hard enough.

“Y-You can’t—” he spluttered into his gloves. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” you demanded. “It’s true!”

Azul’s shoulders hunched up like he was trying make himself very, very small. And then after a long moment of near hyperventilating into his palms, he finally looked back over at you from behind the shield of his fingers.

“You…” he swallowed. “You love me?”

You nodded, certain. Becauese what else could that warm, bright, all-consuming thing be in your chest be but that?

“You,” he said again. “Love me?”

“Yes,” you agreed, never more sure of anything than that. “And we should get married.”

Azul choked again and went back to hiding behind his fingers.

“Unless…” you started, trailing off as something horrible and unsure squirmed through your chest. “Unless you don’t want to, of course. It should be your choice too. Just because I love you, doesn’t mean you have to love me, y’know?”

“That’s not what I said!” he squawked, head snapping back up so fast he nearly knocked the glasses off his face. And then he went red all over again, all the way to the tips of his ears, and he was reaching up to pull the rim of his hat down over his eyes with a curse. “I just…” he began, muffled behind the fabric of his overcoat. “Maybe… dinner first?” he choked. “Before the proposal.”

“Oh,” you blinked, startled. “Of course. That makes sense.”

“That makes sense,” Azul echoed, sounding like you’d come up from behind him and walloped him with a baseball bat rather than just suggested a completely rational and beneficial mutual engagement. “I… I don’t know why I’m surprised at all.”

You quirked a brow. “Were you… expecting me to say that?” you asked confused.

This time he did look back up at you fully. Hands lowered, and the shield of his collar gone and all. The smile he sent you was small but so, heartachingly warm that it had butterflies dancing in your stomach.

“No,” he hummed, sounding impossibly pleased. “I really, really wasn’t.”

.

.

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